Mike Teavee
by manufactured chaos
Summary: More about Mike than Wonka, but still. Wonka sees Mike on TV. Heh. No pun intended. I suppose you might like Mike a lot, but I made him a brat. Actually, I suppose it's more rambling than about anybody in particular. Maybe you'll like it. Reviews are love


**Author's Note!** So, this was going to be up a while ago, but decided it didn't want to let me upload my file (Something about a virus––I know nothing! I didn't do it! Maybe Kuisutosan no konpyuutaa had one and I contracted it from her, but I don't think so… It's probably just screwy.) and so I didn't get a chance to. But now I'm using a different computer (Yes, I did have to retype it, which is a pain in the you-know-where.) and so it ought to work. If it doesn't, I'm going to, like, sue them or something.

--

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He rather liked watching television, to the point where no one could have been surprised to see his rotten little brain ooze out of his ears.

One day, this little boy was eating a candy bar. He was really only eating it because he was hungry, not because he particularly liked chocolate, because he didn't.

Anyway, he was eating this candy bar, and it just happened to be a Wonka bar! A Wonka Scrumdiddliumptious bar. This was good because Wonka's Scrumdiddliumptious bars were arguably the absolute best kind of candy bar ever invented.

_Anyway_. (We're getting to the important bit now, so you should start paying attention again.) This little boy was eating this candy bar and then all of a sudden he saw this glinting bit of gold in the wrapper.

"Hey, Ma!" he yelled. "Lookit this! The wrapper's the wrong color, see? Ha! Stupid people, can't even make a candy wrapper right…"

And this little boy's mother––now might be a good time to mention that the little boy's name was Mike. This little boy Mike's mother squealed and ran into the room and snatched the candy bar from his chocolate-covered fingers. Deftly plucking the sheet of gold leaf from the candy, she exclaimed, "Oh, Mike, look at this, look, look, you've found a gold ticket, oh my god, Mike, I'm so happy––!"

Mike arched a dark eyebrow. "And I care…why?"

"Oh, you silly goose, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! There are people out there who'd pay hundreds––thousands––for a chance like this! Wonka's factory…_imagine_…"

Her eyes were beginning to get that misty nostalgic look that made Mike roll his disdainfully.

"Whoopee," he said sarcastically, grabbing his candy back and chewing on it, his eyes reaffixed to the TV. "We should just sell it and buy a new TV. This one's speakers are shot."

His mother could have slapped him right then and there. She very nearly did, too, but at the last second came to her senses and lowered her arm. She settled for saying stiffly, "Well, maybe you should have turned the volume down during those gunfights like I asked you to."

--

Once upon a time, but really at the same time, there was a very old boy. He rather enjoyed eating chocolate, to the point where no one would have been surprised to see him pop a button or two every once in a while (what was really surprising was that he never did, instead staying thin as a twig).

One day, this very old boy was watching the television. It was the news, so he wasn't watching it for fun; he was watching it because there were some very important things going on in the world that he needed to know about.

Anyway, he was watching the news and all of a sudden there came a newsflash across the bottom of the screen. He had to lean forward and squint ("Glasses? My mother used to wear glasses. I never needed to, though…") to read the miniscule text, but he needn't have bothered, because moments later there came the sound of an anchor literally hissing with jealousy as he had to tell the public of the next Golden Ticked winner's good fortune.

Oh, my, my, my. Did I really, truly forget to mention that the name of this boy who was really too old to be considered a boy, but was still mostly a child instead of man was Willy. Well, to be perfectly honest, Willy was his nickname. His real name might have been William, or it might have been Wilbur, or it might have been Wilma. No one really knew for sure, except possibly his parents, and nobody knew who _they_ were either. Everyone just knew him as Willy Wonka, sometimes with an "amazing chocolatier" tacked onto the end. And that was okay.

_Anyway_, Mr. Wonka, or Willy, if you like, was staring dumbly at his television.

No, not _stupidly_.

_Speechlessly._

Slowly, he turned his gaze to the clipboard that rested peacefully on his lap.

Note to self: Move TVROOM button to more easily-accessible-for-ten-year-olds (short ones) place.

--

**Author's Note!** So, ohmigawd, I've finally finished with this little thing. Willy doesn't really get too much time to think about Charlie, and, well, we know what he thinks. Not that we don't know what he thinks about the rest of them, but still. Charlie wins, so Charlie rocks. Should I write slash now? I mean. Pedophilia is icky. I don't condone it. But still. Should I? Maybe I could write something darker now? Here, I have an idea. You're getting a bonus update! It involves pedophilia, so if you're into that…


End file.
